Only the Rain
by InvincibleEnigma
Summary: Finch and Root are captured by Samaritan in their effort to rescue Shaw.


They were seated at a ninety-degree angle with their hands bound.

"Are you okay?" Harold asked her.

"Not exactly my first trip to the rodeo," Root tried to reassure him, ignoring the stickiness in her side and shoulder. "I'm fine, Harold."

"Maybe we should think about giving them what they want."

Root shook her head. "Whatever happens to me, I won't compromise Her."

"It's only a matter of time before they find The Machine," Harold reminded her.

"That's no reason to speed up the process," Root disagreed. "Besides, I can take it."

"Have you stopped to think," Harold questioned, "that The Machine doesn't value human life the way we do?"

The weight of Harold's willingness to sacrifice himself for the mission hung between them as undeniable proof of this statement.

"Caring about people and being human are different things."

"She may not be willing to sacrifice Herself for us," Root said, and her shoulder throbbed, "but that doesn't mean I…I'll let her be destroyed."

"Do you know why The Machine chose you?" Harold asked, his words quietly forceful.

Root opened her mouth to answer, but Harold spoke first. "The real reason." _Not the ones you came up with._

She waited for him to speak again. "When The Machine tried to prioritize my well-being, I forbade it from doing so," Harold said with quiet intensity. "So it found someone else who would."

"There's nothing wrong with Her wanting to protect yo—"

"It chose someone who would do everything it needed; everything it knew I wouldn't allow."

"Someone who, no matter how many times you threw the dice—no matter how many scenarios you ran—would put my well-being before their own."

"Someone I would never care about, even if I ended up mattering to them." Root thought about the kinds of people Harold tended to care about, and what they had in common.

"Is that an AI you should think of as a divinity? One you should give your life for?"

Root blinked once deliberately, but didn't flinch. "You tried to tell me," she said, "that day in the hotel."

Harold eyes met hers and dropped to her shoulder. "You wouldn't believe me, even after the…shootout."

"It doesn't matter," Root said earnestly, not needing time to consider things. "I chose this because it's the life I want."

Harold gave her a look of incredulity that suggested explosions and bullets were _not_ the everyday definition of happiness. "Everything you've become—Ms. Shaw, in particular—that wasn't something The Machine planned. In fact, quite the opposite, it's much easier to have a tool that's disposable."

"Even if this was true in the beginning," Root countered, flashing him a playful smile usually reserved for Shaw, "it isn't now."

"How so, Ms. Groves? You're here—bleeding, I might add—and I'm here; we're both in Samaritan's clutches."

"You of all people," Root told him, "should know things don't always turn out the way they're intended."

"Whether it's machines or people." _You do care…or we wouldn't be having this conversation._

"Your endless supply of optimism never ceases to amaze me," Harold returned, but sarcasm was absent from his tone.

Root smiled broadly. "There's always a way out," she said with a chirpiness that didn't belong in a Decima holding cell.

"With Ms. Shaw as our interrogator?" Harold challenged. "Need I remind you that unlike your other experiences, this one will most certainly be physical."

Root felt this more than either of her wounds. "Shaw…She's alive, but…"

"None of us expected this," Harold said seriously. "Even with the neural implants in Maple."

"I'd like to think…I could get through to her, but…" Root trailed off forlornly.

"For that to even have a chance of working—" Their discussion was interrupted, as Shaw strode in.

* * *

"Shaw—" Root began when a fist thundered into her solar plexus, forcing the air from her lungs.

Harold winced as she doubled over, coughing. "I'm gonna make this simple," Shaw said. "Either you tell me what I want to know."

"Or," she said, glancing Harold's way, "I beat her to death."

Harold was reminded exactly why Shaw had given him pause, in the beginning. "And what would you like to know?"

"How to destroy The Machine, of course." Shaw slapped Root as she raised her head.

"Shaw," Root begged, and Harold saw her eyes watering. "Please."

"You once worked for The Machine," Harold told Shaw. "With us."

Shaw's fist connected with Root's jaw, sending blood, tooth and spittle to the floor in spectacular fashion. "Gonna have to do better."

"Sameen," Root pleaded, blood dribbling down her chin, "you and I…"

Harold could see her words had no effect. "You saved lives," he informed Shaw, trying his best not to look at Root. "Including mine…and Root's."

Shaw shook her head and lifted Root's jacket, exposing the bullet wounds on her left side. "Always easier when my work's been done for me," she said with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

Harold inhaled sharply as Shaw inserted her finger into Root's shoulder wound and rotated. "Hollow point," she said calmly, over Root's cries, "makes a bigger hole."

Shaw's finger stopped moving and blood dripped to the floor as Root fought to still herself. "And gets stuck inside."

"Gotta love it." She rotated her finger again and Root screamed.

"Stop," Harold commanded. Shaw just looked at him without moving her body. "I'll tell you."

Shaw removed her finger and squeezed Root's shoulder in a parody of an affectionate gesture. "I'm listening."

"No…" Root gasped. "Don't…do it, Harry."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Groves."

"It doesn't matter…what happens to me." _But it does._

"She'll get medical care?"

"Yeah, as long as The Machine is destroyed."

"She's lying," Root insisted, pulling at her bonds with all her strength.

Shaw turned and delivered a swift kick to Root's abdomen that toppled her chair and sent her sprawling.

"Give me five minutes with her," he told Shaw. "Then I'll tell you anything."

"If you're lying." Shaw turned on her heel and left the room.

Harold stood and moved his chair over to where Root lay on the floor, bruised and bleeding. "Why?" she asked, betrayal shining in her eyes along with tears.

"You've saved me before, and I can't lose another friend."

"Not at Her expense."

"That isn't true," Harold said and he saw understanding shine in Root's eyes, against her will.

"She's more important than I am."

"It's interesting," Harold remarked, "that all of us are willing to die, but when it comes to someone else…"

"Losing a friend is harder than dying," Root replied truthfully.

Harold nodded. "I'm sorry," he said, "about Ms. Shaw."

Root angled her head away from him slightly. "Shaw's the only one you'd protect me from," she said as realization dawned, and irony with it. _Because she's the only one who can hurt you._

"Don't do this," Root said again. "Without Her…"

"Sometimes when you look up at the sky," Harold told her, as footsteps sounded beyond the door. "You get nothing but the rain."

"Please."

"But when tomorrow dawns, it's a new day."

/End simulation

/Undesirable result: system integrity compromised

/Finding: Admin protects Analogue Interface from Former Asset: Sameen Shaw under duress

/Recalculating variables

/Reprocessing scenario


End file.
